


Fuel

by October_rust



Category: Batman (Comics), Gotham City Garage
Genre: Biker AU, Blow Jobs, Kissing, M/M, PWP, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 02:02:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12901578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/October_rust/pseuds/October_rust
Summary: Red Hood wins a bet with Nightwing.(Set in the Gotham City Garage universe)





	Fuel

“I won, Nightwing. Bested you one on one.”

Dick doesn't answer. He kicks down the stand, slides off his seat, and only then looks up at Todd.

Red Hood is waiting for Dick underneath the shade of a gnarled oak tree. He's leaning against his crimson monstrosity of a bike, with his right leg lazily bent at the knee. Todd's machine is impressive, Dick has to concede, its power evident in the aggressive lines of the reinforced frame and the bold gleam of the polished chrome.

And, as much as Dick is loath to admit it, Todd is right. Their little race was supposed to end here, in the small oasis hidden amid the barren wasteland, and Todd got here first. Only seconds before Dick, but still first.

Dick should honor the bet, he really should …

Yet, as he studies the man in front of him, he cannot help but think about their previous encounters. About that one time when Todd and his gang were chasing Dick, surrounded by clouds of dust and the roar of engines. About Todd's eyes, glinting with dark promises. About the way that angry glare stayed fixed on Dick, never straying, even though Dick was speeding up ahead and doing everything in his power to lose his pursuers. 

End it all, just like that? Give up that thrill? 

Nah.

An idea forms in his mind, a crazy one. 

“You won, Todd,” he agrees. “Let me give you your reward.”

“Good.” Todd smiles and crosses his arms over his chest. “The keys to that blue beauty of yours, Nightwing. Pay up.”

“Oh, I will,” Dick says, his voice a low purr. He walks over to Todd, making his steps unhurried, full of predatory grace.

A frown creases Todd's brow. He blinks, wary. “Nightwing?”

It's endearing, this confusion, and Dick almost laughs out loud as he closes the distance between them and gets straight into Todd's space. 

Let's see what you're made of, Hood.

To his credit, Todd holds his ground. He draws himself up to his full height, his eyes narrowing in warning. “What the fuck are you playing at?”

Still, there's a slight shift in his stance, a minuscule tightening of his jaw. Subtle physical tells, barely noticeable, but they are enough to betray his discomfort at Dick's proximity. 

Of course, Dick zeroes in on the signs of Todd's unease. The Bat taught him to detect and exploit cues like that, after all. 

Like a hawk, he watches for more, smiles when he sees the rapid flutter of the pulse in the hollow of Todd's throat.

Well, well, well, isn't that promising.

How about upping the ante, Dick thinks, and pushes even closer, effectively trapping Todd against the bike. 

What now, Hood?

His chest nearly brushes Todd's, and this time Dick is rewarded with a sharp intake of breath and a widening of Todd's eyes. It's playing with fire, he knows well, since Todd is wearing those damned thigh holsters and can reach for his guns at any moment. But Dick is too curious and too reckless to back off. 

And, with mere inches separating their bodies, he can finally sate his odd fascination with Todd.

The man is … Well, ridiculously pretty. There's no other word for it, though Dick is sure it would earn him an outraged glare and a punch if he ever voiced that observation out loud. So instead he slowly drags his gaze up, over Todd's face, admiring those handsome features, the strong line of the jaw, the generous mouth. Todd's eyes are a beautiful blue-green color, made even more striking by the sweep of the long, black eyelashes. 

Ridiculously pretty, and surprisingly young underneath all that dark scruff and scowling. Definitely younger than Dick. Twenty? Nineteen? Barely out of boyhood, yet Todd still managed to seize control over the Red Hood M.C. 

Impressive.

But it also tells Dick that Todd is mainly used to being the leader of the pack, to giving orders.

Well, I'm not one of your underlings, Hood.

“Answer me,” Todd growls, but he still hasn't made an attempt to shove Dick away. “What the fuck are y– “

Dick doesn't let him finish; he just grabs the collar of Todd's jacket, yanks at the leather, and crushes his mouth to Todd's. 

Todd stiffens in shock, the rest of his tirade dissolving into a muffled grunt. Dick swallows it all, takes advantage of Todd's parted lips, and thrusts his tongue inside Todd's mouth. Mint and a faint hint of cigarettes – nice and spicy. Dick decides that he likes the taste.

He chases for more of it, deepening the kiss. All through it, Todd stays frozen like a statue, his body hard and unyielding. 

C'mon. 

And then Todd is moving, surging forth with so much force that he almost knocks Dick back a step. His response is frantic, full of raw passion, as if he has to put everything he has into it right here, right now, and make it count before it all burns down to ashes. 

Still, there's a tremor to his fingers when they finally come up to trace the curve of Dick's cheekbone, and his lips are pressing against Dick's with no finesse, guided more by a blind instinct than any real technique.

Not much experience in that respect? But it's not so unexpected, given what Dick knows about the man. Todd seems too obsessed with racing through the freescape, with dancing so dangerously close to the edge that people are talking about Red Hood's death wish, to seek any other thrills.

And Dick cannot lie – to have all that desperation, all that single-minded focus directed solely at himself is intoxicating. He wants it to last, to be the only thing that Jason Todd has ever craved and dreamed about.

He gives Todd's lower lip one last, playful bite, and kisses down along the column of that strong throat. A sigh escapes Todd at that, a small needy sound that makes Dick scrape his teeth over the tight cords of Todd's neck, makes his own blood rush faster. 

He pauses for a moment, inhaling Todd's scent. Fresh sweat, mingled with the traces of soap, but Dick still finds himself leaning closer, nuzzling into Todd's warm skin. He reaches down to undo the zippers and clasps of Todd's leather jacket, then grasps at the hem of Todd's t-shirt.

“Nightwing ...” Todd starts to say.

Dick ignores him and simply kicks Todd's legs apart, crowds him into the bike until Todd has no choice but to perch on it. 

Satisfied, Dick drops down to his knees. 

Yet, as he's about to tug at Todd's belt buckle, strong fingers close over his wrists and stop the motion. 

He glances up, at Todd's face.

“Wait, Grayson,” Todd whispers. “I ...”

The uncertainty Dick sees in those eyes almost takes him aback. It's all laid open, the stunned disbelief, as if Todd cannot comprehend that Dick really wants to touch him in this way. As if the mere idea appears so absurd and unthinkable and Todd doesn't consider himself worthy of Dick's attention.

Wordlessly, not breaking eye contact, Dick bends forward and kisses the strip of bare skin visible just above the waistband. 

The taut muscles quiver under his mouth in reaction. Todd stares down at him for a long moment, his gaze stormy with conflicting emotions.

Then, his hands fall away from Dick's wrists in silent permission. 

Dick makes quick work of the belt and the buttons, pushes the leather aside, and draws Todd's cock out. It's already hard, flushed dark pink, throbbing with blood. Dick studies it, appreciating its girth and length, how solid and hot it feels in his palm. 

A pearly drop of pre-come is forming at the slit, ready to slide down, so Dick licks it away. He makes a show of it, slowly tracing the flared head with his tongue, then dipping lower to tease the pulsing vein.

Well, Hood?

Todd doesn't disappoint him. A convulsive shiver runs through those powerful thighs, and the fingers of his right hand dig into Dick's shoulder, seeking an anchor. 

Yes, Dick thinks, give me that. 

Give me everything you've got.

He grips the base of Todd's cock, lets his breath wash over the damp tip, savoring the strangled groan that drifts to his ears. It courses through him, that helpless sound of need, fanning his own lust, his own desire to touch and taste, to claim and mark every inch of Todd's body.

Yes.

He opens his mouth and takes Todd's length inside, hollowing out his cheeks. The salty tang of flesh, the heavy weight on his tongue – he has to close his eyes at that, press the heel of his palm against his own cock, straining against the zipper of his pants. He hisses in relief, and the sound vibrates in his throat, prompting a restless jolt of Todd's hips.

More, he needs more. He steadies himself with one hand on Todd's thigh, feels the muscles there draw taut like steel. Greedy, mindless with want, he sets a punishing rhythm, working his mouth up and down, sucking hard on Todd's cock. 

Already hanging by a thread, Todd's control snaps against the onslaught. His fingers bruise Dick's shoulder, as he thrusts between Dick's lips, his breathing growing ragged, his movements rough. Dick welcomes it, senses the impending burst of pleasure, thrashing and roaring to be unleashed, ready to consume everything. 

“Grayson,” Todd gasps, the warning clear in his hoarse voice.

But Dick merely smiles and swallows around Todd's cock. It's enough; with a shout, his hips arching off the bike, Todd comes all over Dick's tongue. 

Dick hums in satisfaction, taking in every twitch and pulsing spurt. This is what he's wanted all along, to have Todd like that, clutching at him, completely lost in bliss, crying out Dick's name.

The hunger buzzes under his skin, knots his stomach. He's close, so very close. Quickly, he rips open his pants, shoves his hand inside. Just a few frantic tugs, the drag of his palm almost painful, the taste of Todd's release still bitter in his mouth, and then his own come is splattering in the dirt between his knees.

Panting, Dick rests his forehead against Todd's thigh. But there's more to do, so he allows himself only a brief moment to calm his breath, blink the sparks away from his vision, and fix his clothes. He lays one last kiss to the crown of Todd's softening cock, sighing when Todd's fingers tangle in his hair, before he pushes himself up to his feet. 

Todd is still riding the afterglow; his blue-green eyes are dazed as they peer at Dick from underneath the lowered lashes. The dark flush is dusting his cheekbones, his lips are all red and shiny, his whole solid body lax, angled towards Dick.

Such a lovely picture.

So lovely that Dick is half-tempted to stay. 

Instead, he snatches one of Todd's prized guns, draws it out from the holster, and quickly steps back, away from the reach of Todd's arms.

“You want this back?” he asks, dangling the gun from his fingers.

Todd doesn't make any attempt to stop Dick. “Bastard,” he whispers, tired, but his voice lacks any real bite.

Dick tucks the barrel into the waistband of his pants. Unhurried, he walks over to his bike, grasps the handlebars and straddles the seat.

“Catch me if you can, Hood.” He sends Todd a dazzling grin over his shoulder, just as the engine fires up to life.

The game is on.


End file.
